


it ain't no sin to be glad you're alive

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5944597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wants to make sure Bucky knows how he feels about him, especially after all those years they kept silent, and then all those years they'd lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it ain't no sin to be glad you're alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelgazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/gifts).



> Title from "Badlands."

Even when the bed is warm and cozy and the room is cold, Steve's never been one to lounge around when he could be up and doing--especially since he's been _able_ to be up and doing--so it's early when he rolls out for his morning run. He feels only a slight pang at leaving Bucky curled up under the covers, still asleep. It's progress, of a sort. He's no longer afraid that Bucky will disappear every time he turns his back.

He likes Brooklyn during the early morning hours, when the night's misty cool hasn't yet been burned off by the summer sun, and the sidewalks are a lot less crowded with people. He nods at a few other regular runners, the ones he sees more often than not on his early rounds, and when he's done, he stops off at the bagel shop and picks up a pumpernickel with veggie cream cheese for himself and a sesame with lox and a schmear for Bucky.

There's no coffee made when he gets back and no sound of Bucky puttering around in the weight room or taking a shower, so Steve puts the kettle on to boil some water and eats half his bagel, still sweating and energized from his run.

When even the smell of fresh coffee doesn't bring Bucky out into the kitchen, Steve fills his mug, puts his bagel on a paper plate, and carries them into the bedroom. Bucky's still hunched down under the covers; his eyes are open, but he doesn't look happy about it. His mouth is pinched and his hair is a knotty mess against the pale blue pillowcase.

"Morning," Steve says, setting the mug and the bagel on the night table. 

Bucky grunts wordlessly in response.

Steve sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that Bucky can reach for him if he wants to, but far enough away to not crowd him. He didn't have nightmares last night, as far as Steve knows, because that usually wakes both of them up. And yesterday had been a good day: a trip to the pediatrics ward at New York Presbyterian to visit kids with new Stark prosthetics, the tech for which had been developed after Tony studied Bucky's arm, and then a group session at the VA, and to cap it off, a ballgame out at Citi Field. The Mets had even won. It _was_ a good day. 

Steve's always thankful that the good days far outnumber the now, but he can't help but notice that the bad ones frequently follow the really good ones. He's only starting to understand what that means.

"Yesterday was really good," he finally ventures. "I had a lot of fun at the game, and I thought you did too. I know the kids in the hospital loved seeing you."

Bucky shifts to face Steve, his mouth drawn down unhappily. "I don't see why they should be. I don't see why I should be allowed--"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Buck." Steve swings his legs up onto the bed and settles on his side facing Bucky. "You deserve to have fun." He reaches out and strokes his index finger down the slope of Bucky's nose. Bucky's eyes cross and his brow wrinkles. "Your face is gonna freeze like that." That wins him Bucky's rough and rusty bark of laughter.

"Too soon," Bucky groans.

Steve huddles in closer and presses a kiss to Bucky's lips. He's aware of how sweaty and rank he still is from his run, but Bucky's got morning breath, so he can't really complain. Not that he does. He opens his mouth and lets Steve suck gently on his upper lip. They kiss languidly for a few minutes, and then Steve moves his mouth from Bucky's to kiss along the sharp, stubbled line of his jaw, his left hand coming up to cup the other side of Bucky's face and push the bird's nest of his hair off his forehead.

"You're the best friend I've ever had," Steve murmurs into the shell of his ear, "and one of the best men I've ever known." Bucky makes a distressed sound and Steve shushes him. "It's true." He licks down the column of Bucky's neck and grazes his teeth against the fluttering pulse in his throat. "And I'm gonna keep telling you for as long as you need to hear it."

He slings a leg over Bucky's so he can sprawl on top of him while they neck. Bucky's hands stroke through his hair and down his back. He squeezes Steve's ass and bumps his hips up so Steve can feel how hard he is already. 

"Let's get this show on the road," Bucky mutters.

"Hold your horses, buckaroo," Steve answers with a laugh and he kisses Bucky's grimace at the silly nickname away. "I wanna take my time with you." He knows it's not the sex that makes Bucky uncomfortable--not anymore, at least, though at first they'd both been tentative and self-conscious--so much as the way Steve can't keep his mouth shut during it, can't stop telling Bucky how much he loves him with words as well as touches and kisses. Steve himself had been a little surprised at how vocal he'd become, but he just wants to make sure Bucky _knows_ how he feels about him, especially after all those years they kept silent, and then all those years they'd lost.

It's warm enough that Bucky slept with his chest bare, so Steve starts at his clavicle and kisses his way down--the flat width of his sternum, the muscled curves of his pecs, the tight little brown nipples that pucker up under his tongue. Bucky gasps Steve's name and writhes beneath him, his hands curled tight in Steve's t-shirt, on the dip of his hips, the swell of his ass. He sneaks a hand beneath the waistband of Steve's jogging shorts, fingers teasing the cleft of his ass, and Steve moans against Bucky's bellybutton. He uses his teeth, an unspoken warning that Bucky ignores, sliding his right hand up under Steve's shorts to palm his hard cock. 

Steve hips jerk into the touch, and then he pulls away long enough to shuck the damn shorts, and yank Bucky's down over his hips, as well. They tear and Bucky starts laughing, which is one of Steve's favorite sounds in the world.

"Look what you did," Bucky says, leaning back and giving Steve a smirk that looks almost like 1940. "Are you proud of yourself?"

Grinning smugly in response, Steve says, "I really am."

"Punk," Bucky replies, grabbing Steve's hand to pull him close again.

Steve gets distracted by the heat of Bucky's mouth beneath his, the stroke of his tongue and the huff of his breath, but then he remembers where he was going with this, and he slides down the bed to nip at the jut of Bucky's hip bones, nuzzle at the trail of wiry hair on his abdomen. He licks at the sweaty crease where Bucky's leg joins his body and then kisses the soft skin on the insides of his thighs, enjoying the play Bucky's of muscles under his skin, they way they respond to his every touch.

Bucky's metal hand cups the nape of Steve's neck, and his right hand cards through Steve's hair, trying to guide him, and Steve is happy to oblige, licking his way up the length of Bucky's cock, the salt-musk taste of it on his tongue making him moan. He presses little flicking kisses against the head before he wraps a hand around the base and swallows it down. He clings to Bucky's hip with his other hand, but doesn't hold him down, doesn't ever hold him still if he wants to move, and Bucky arches up into his mouth with a low grunt that sounds like all the breath has been punched from his body.

Steve looks up at him through his lashes, concerned, but Bucky's mouth twists in a self-deprecating half-grin before it falls open on another gasp of pleasure. Steve sucks and licks in turn, bobs his head till his lips meet his hand, his own cock so desperate for friction that he starts rutting against the bed. He moves his hand from Bucky's hip to curl around his own cock, and strokes himself eagerly, falling into a rhythm that has them both moaning.

Bucky's thighs tense, his hand tightening in Steve's hair, and then he spills himself down Steve's throat. Steve swallows and swallows, breathing heavily through his nose. He pulls off and grins with swollen, sticky lips at how ecstatic Bucky looks, boneless and gasping in satisfaction against the pillows. He kneels up then and finishes himself off with a few strokes, painting Bucky's belly and thighs with his come.

"See what you do to me?" he says hoarsely when he can speak again. 

"You're a mess, Rogers," Bucky says with a smile.

"But I'm your mess," Steve replies. "And I'm gonna clean it all up." Heat flares in Bucky's eyes at that, and by the time Steve's licked him clean, they're both hard and panting again.

"C'mere," Bucky says, tugging Steve up with one hand while he reaches for the lube on the night table with the other. Steve vaguely recalls the coffee mug and hopes it doesn't spill. "Not done with you yet."

"Okay," Steve says happily. "I see you're going to make me do all the work."

Bucky slicks his fingers then slides them around Steve's hole. "Well, yeah. Look at you."

"Look at _you_ ," Steve parrots back, too sincere for the bantering tone Bucky's going for but not caring. "So damn gorgeous." Bucky looks away but Steve cups his chin and kisses him hard and hot and hungrily until he realizes he's distracting Bucky, whose hand has stilled. "Keep going."

"Now who's in a hurry?"

Steve laughs. "Shut up." He doesn't need much prep anymore, but Bucky always likes to make a show of it, slow and teasing. 

Steve rocks back onto his fingers, hungry for more. "Come on and fuck me. I'm not gonna break."

"I guess you're not," Bucky concedes, letting his fingers slip out.

Steve's too impatient to wait, so he grasps Bucky's cock and sinks down onto it with a blissful gasp at the rough slide of it inside him. He twines his fingers with Bucky's and starts moving his hips, the two of them pistoning like some perfect engine. Heat licks down his spine and sets his whole body on fire. Bucky wraps a hand around his dick and it only takes two or three strokes until Steve's off again like a bottle rocket, striping Bucky's chest and belly with come yet again.

Bucky's hands move to Steve's hips and he continues to fuck up into him. "Steve. Steve, I'm gonna--"

"Good," Steve tells him encouragingly. "I'm gonna feel that all day. Gonna think about how good you feel inside me, and how good you make me feel."

"Sap." Bucky's voice is rough and his hips stutter as he comes deep and hard, his whole face going soft and sweet as he looks at Steve. "Steve."

"Yeah," Steve says, collapsing onto the bed next to him, uncaring about the mess of lube and spunk trailing down his thighs. He draws patterns into the come on Bucky's skin, rubbing it in so Bucky will smell like him until his next shower (when he'll use Steve's soap and still smell like him in a different way). He's feeling pleasantly dozy, and he started the day early enough that surely it must be time for a nap. "Love you." 

Bucky laughs softly in his ear and gifts him with a quiet, breathed out, "Yeah, me too." 

"Love you so much, Buck," Steve murmurs before he drifts off. 

He'll say it as often as he has to, until Bucky believes it, and he'll keep saying it after that. It's the most important thing he's ever done.


End file.
